Role Reversal: Like Mother Like Daughter
by rankamateur
Summary: This story is in response to Nightwing's Challenge, to write a story based on the movie
1. Mother Daughter

Role Reversal - Like Mother - Like Daughter --- Like Mother --- Like..........  
  
by rankamateur  
  
"Scarecrow and Mrs. King" belong to Warner Bros. and Shoot The Moon Enterprises, Ltd.  
  
Between Seasons One and Two. Dotty knows how to drive--even if she does make a lot of right turns.  
  
This story is in response to Nightwing's Challenge of Aug 2003, (to write a story based on the movie "Freaky Friday--where characters switch bodies), and is, of necessity, AU.  
  
I have used ** to indicate emphasis, as well with some phrases that would generally require quote marks.  
  
Thanks again to buffy for taking her valuable time to do the initial work beta on this. And to kingmissy for a pretty complete overhaul. All remaining mistakes are mine.  
  
---------------------  
  
The evening had been perfect. She and Lee dancing the night away. He looked so wonderful in a tux. She was wearing an exquisite white gown, which resembled something she had seen pictured in one of those high fashion magazines that Francine enjoyed reading. They were swaying to an old, romantic melody. He was looking at her with those amazing hazel eyes of his--looking deeply into her eyes. And neither one of them blinked . . . Suddenly the music sounded very discordant. What happened? What was wrong? It sounded like . . . an alarm clock. 'Oh, no!'  
  
Amanda rolled over and, after a few near misses, finally hit the *snooze* button. She really *hated* to wake up. Finally, she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. The light streaming in through the curtains was enough to bring her fully awake.  
  
She rubbed her stomach. "Hmmmm."   
  
She seemed to have a mild case of indigestion, which was unusual. Must have been the food at that new Hungarian restaurant the family had tried last night, she decided. Spicy dishes, certainly not what they were used to, and that gypsy fortune-teller. What a combination. She never did figure out exactly what happened between her mother and that strange woman. She was busy trying to convince the boys that this was an interesting change from pizza, hamburgers and fried chicken, so she didn't hear what went on. She knew Dotty had laughed at something the woman said and then the gypsy said something else, in a language that Amanda didn't recognize, and made that peculiar gesture.   
  
'Probably didn't mean anything. Oh well.' She yawned. 'Here I am in my ordinary room, in my ordinary house, in my ordinary neighborhood, almost ready for another ordinary day.'   
  
Of course she *did* have that typing to deliver to Mr. Melrose. And who knew what a trip to IFF might bring. She might see Lee and he might need her help on a case. In this line of work--spying, not typing--you could never be sure what might turn an ordinary day into one filled with excitement, danger, intrigue!  
  
'Funny,' she thought, 'I'm stiff.' She was aware of a little crick in her neck, a slight twinge in her lower back, an odd soreness in her left wrist. 'Must've slept wrong. I probably stayed too long in one position. A nice hot shower and I'll be fine.'  
  
Throwing back the covers, she gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up and stretched. After easing into her robe, she covered another yawn and stumbled sleepily into the bathroom.   
  
Squeezing her eyes shut and then opening them wide, she looked into the mirror at her reflection.   
  
Only . . . " Oh my gosh! OH MY GOSH!" It wasn't *her* reflection looking back at her. It was . . .  
  
"OH MY GOSH!" Dotty's panicky voice resounded through the whole house.   
  
It was a good thing that the boys had spent the night at a friend's house. That many "Oh My Goshes" from their mother *and* grandmother would have been quite unnerving.  
  
"Amanda!" Dotty called out.  
  
"Mother," Amanda wailed, as they met in the hall.  
  
"Amanda, what's happened? Why are you . . . wearing my face? My body? My EVERYTHING?"  
  
"I don't know why." Amanda leaned against the wall for support, wringing her hands. "I wish I *did* know why you're me and I'm . . . I'm YOU!"  
  
"You even *sound* like me! I feel like I've . . . *we've* fallen down that rabbit hole in . . . in *Alice In Wonderland*." Dotty was almost sobbing.  
  
"Calm down, Mother." Amanda put her hand on Dotty's shoulder. Only it looked like Dotty's hand on Amanda's shoulder. "Let's go down stairs and make some coffee and just . . . think about this."  
  
"All right, darling. That's a good idea. We'll think about this calmly and rationally. There must be a logical explanation."  
  
"Right. A logical, reasonable explanation." Amanda nodded her head.  
  
"Like WHAT?"  
  
They started downstairs, Dotty bounding down the steps energetically, while Amanda made the trip a bit more circumspectly, trying to accustom herself to her mother's slightly less flexible form.  
  
-----------  
  
Unfortunately, the answer to their dilemma was not to be found in a cup of coffee--or even several cups of coffee.  
  
"Mother, I don't KNOW what to do. It's not exactly the kind of thing you can just . . . just write a letter to Ann Landers about." Amanda paced around the family room in growing frustration and agitation. "Things like this *just don't happen*! This is just *not possible*!"  
  
"Of course it's not possible." Dotty set her cup down on the coffee table and leaned forward. "So why am I sitting here looking like you while you're walking around looking like ME!"  
  
"Oh Mother, I don't know." Amanda rubbed her forehead, as if that would ward off the headache she felt coming on. "I *do* know that I have some typing that I *have* to deliver to work this morning. I promised I'd have it finished. And I guess you'll have to take it in for me."  
  
"Why me? Why can't you take it and say, ahh, say your daughter's sick or something?"  
  
"Mother, it's very hard to explain. But, trust me, it's better if I--you--Amanda--delivers the work. I'll tell you what you need to know to get by with it." Amanda rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, we can make it work. Where's the street map? I'll show you where the building is."  
  
Amanda couldn't just come right out and tell Dotty that the company for which she did typing and other odd jobs, was actually a government agency--actually THE Agency! Dotty wasn't supposed to know about Amanda's work, for her own safety as well as for reasons of *national security*.   
  
But Amanda was caught in a dilemma. This work had to be turned in today. She had promised Mr. Melrose. No more extensions. She'd finish it and deliver it today. And since her family wasn't supposed to know about IFF, it had to be Amanda, or what looked like Amanda, who turned it in. She'd have to tell Dotty enough so that she would be convincing as Amanda, but without compromising the secret nature of her part-time job.  
  
Dotty returned with the street guide and spread it out on the coffee table.  
  
"Okay, Mother, here's where the building is located." Amanda touched the point on the map where the IFF office stood in Georgetown. "It's International Federal Film."  
  
"Nice neighborhood," Dotty observed. "A film company? Why didn't you mention that before?"  
  
"Oh well, you know . . . ," Amanda mumbled.  
  
"Of course, dear." Studying the map, Dotty outlined a route that would involve mostly, if not all, right turns, making notations on a scratch pad.  
  
"Now, I'll give you today's password, just in case . . ."  
  
"Password?" Dotty repeated. "What do people at a film company need with a password?" She folded her arms, waiting as Amanda studied the ceiling.  
  
"Well, you know . . . it's, it's to keep out people who are trying to crash in because they think they can get a job in the movies. See, most people wouldn't know that IFF just makes documentaries, mainly for the government. So they don't hire just anybody off the street. Anyway, you shouldn't need it, because all you have to do is give the typing to Mrs. Marsten. She's--"  
  
Dotty broke in, "Mrs. Marsten? I thought your boss was a man."  
  
"She's the receptionist, Mother. Umm, but if she *insists* that you give her the word, it's *grapplinghook*"  
  
"Grapplinghook. Who thinks these things up, anyway?"  
  
"I'm not sure. We just have to remember them . . . whatever they are."  
  
"Fine. I've got it. Where's the work?"  
  
"I'll get it," Amanda called out as she went to the living room. She returned to the family room and handed a large manila envelope to Dotty.  
  
"Now, there are a couple of other things . . . ." Amanda hesitated, took a deep breath and then continued. "If you have to, ahh, go downstairs . . . well the elevator is . . . it, ahh, looks like a closet. You just open the door, shove the clothes out of the way and push the button marked *three*."  
  
Dotty started to say something but waited, as it was obvious that Amanda wasn't through.  
  
"If you *do* have to go downstairs, you may meet my boss, Lee. Sometimes people in the office call him *Scarecrow*."  
  
"Scarecrow? Why?" Dotty folded her arms across her chest. This was getting curiouser and curiouser.  
  
"Well, because, he's tall and, well, he's not exactly thin. He's actually pretty well built . . . ," Amanda trailed off--apparently losing her train of thought. "Ahh, then there's a short, kind of balding, black man, Mr. Melrose, he's Lee's boss. Oh, and you might run into this kind of attractive blond. Her name's Francine. Just ignore her, if you can. Anyway, give the work to the first one of them who'll take it and leave!"  
  
"Okay, I think I've got it all. But I'll tell you something, Missy! You've got some *more* explaining to do when I get back."  
  
"Yes, Mother."  
  
---------------  
  
"Mrs. . . . aah, Marsten," Dotty tentatively greeted the distinguished looking woman behind the desk. "Could I just leave this with you? It's the typing I promised the boss I'd have for him today." Dotty dropped the envelope on the desk and started for the exit.  
  
"Mrs. King." Mrs. Marsten's authoritative tone of voice stopped Dotty in her tracks. "Mr. Melrose said he wanted to see you as soon as you arrived."  
  
"Oh." Dotty tried to be casual as she looked around the room, trying to decide which door was the elevator. Crossing her fingers, she started towards the door just to the right of the desk.  
  
"Mrs. King, the password . . . ."  
  
Dotty froze and then turned back to face her challenger. 'Password . . . password . . . . Oh, yes!' "It's grapplinghook."   
  
Relief washed over her as Mrs. Marsten nodded and held out a small *Visitors Pass*.  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Marsten." She smiled as she took the badge and clipped it to her sweater. Then she walked towards the door that she fervently hoped was the elevator. Reaching out a shaking hand, she turned the knob and opened it. Thank goodness! A row of clothes hung there, just as Amanda had described. Ducking through the sweaters and coats, she pushed the button marked *3*. In a moment the elevator started slowly moving down.  
  
----------------  
  
"Amanda," a voice called out.  
  
Turning towards it, Dotty saw a tall, very handsome man striding down the hall in her direction. 'Oh boy . . . '  
  
"I need you this evening and part of tomorrow."  
  
"To do what?" This man needed her? Or rather, needed her daughter?  
  
"I need you as part of my cover. We'll check into the Baltimore Crown Regent Hotel and wait for my contact. He's driving down from New York, and he's supposed to meet me between midnight and one a.m. We'll stay the night and come back tomorrow. Just an easy assignment," he finished up with a smile.   
  
'This must be Lee,' Dotty decided. 'He has a lovely smile and beautiful dimples. I bet he could get just about *any* woman to . . . . Wait a minute!' "You want to take my, er, me to a hotel in Maryland and spend the night?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"In the same room?" Her voice rose slightly.  
  
"Of course." He seemed very calm about all this.  
  
"But, I . . . ." She was at a loss for words.   
  
"Amanda," he said in a slightly annoyed tone, "what's the problem? We've done it before. It's just business. You know that. This'll be a piece of cake. Okay?"  
  
There was that smile again--that heart-stopping smile. Dotty felt her own pulse rate increasing--just a tad. Did he say he and Amanda had done this before?   
  
What did he mean *contact*? What kind of *cover*? Just what kind of films did this company make and exactly what parts did her daughter play in them? Her mind was a whirl of questions.   
  
And all the while that man--Lee--was standing there, waiting for her answer.  
  
She swallowed hard. "Umm, what time do you want me here? I assume we'll meet here at IFF?"  
  
"Four o'clock and yes, we'll meet here and drive down in my car. Oh, this place is really Five Star so we'll dress for dinner."  
  
"Oh. Wait a minute. I was told that Mr. Melrose wanted to see me."  
  
"This is what he wanted to talk to you about. Helping me." Lee shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at her, expectantly.  
  
"Oh. All right. See you at four." What in the world was she getting herself into? Well, anybody who had read as many Agatha Christie novels as she had should be able to improvise. This might be fun.  
  
-----------------------  
  
Dotty opened the front door and looked around. "Amanda . . . Amanda? Philip? Jamie?"   
  
No answer. Then she spotted the note:  
  
"GONE TO MR CHICKEN FOR A LATE LUNCH. IT'S CLOSE ENOUGH TO WALK. SEE YOU LATER.  
  
LOVE,  
  
MOTHER"  
  
Happily, she wouldn't have to face Amanda and come up with some story to tell her about where she was going. She wondered if Amanda had left the house because *she* didn't want to face Dotty's questions.   
  
Oh darn! She'd have to leave a note with some kind of explanation for her absence. Her overnight absence!   
  
What kind of excuses had Amanda given her for those times when she was away for a day or two? 'Hmmmm, how about . . . house sitting for one of her former pet-walking and plant-watering clients? Yeah. Good!'   
  
That would work, Dotty was sure. Just say there was a frantic call from an old customer who had to go out of town and needed Amanda to stay at her home until tomorrow. She sat down and began to compose the note.  
  
Then she had to get upstairs and pack. Dotty smiled. She'd take that wonderful cocktail dress of Amanda's that she had always admired. It was fun to be able to wear Amanda's clothes. It was fun looking like her very lovely daughter, at least for a little while.  
  
She had to hurry and get out of the house before Amanda and the boys got back. Even if she had to drive around until her appointment at 4:00 o'clock. Until her appointment with . . . destiny?  
  
---------------------------  
  
As they drove along in Lee's beautiful silver sports car, Dotty felt rather like a voyeur, looking through this unexpected, and unexplainable, window on her daughter's life--a part that Amanda had kept secret up until now. She glanced sideways at her companion and found him smiling at her. He quickly returned his gaze to the road.  
  
"Almost there," he informed her. "Hope you're hungry. I hear they have a world-class Chateaubriand."  
  
"Yes," Dotty answered a bit absently, "I am a little hungry."  
  
---------  
  
The hotel was everything Dotty had imagined and more. From the soaring atrium and the marble fountain, to the lobby, with the plush carpeting, velvet wall coverings, gold leaf . . . . Everywhere she looked there was some new treasure--from excellent reproductions of famous art works, to the crystal chandeliers. Everything bespoke elegance and opulence--like a palace.   
  
'This film company must be *very* successful,' she thought, 'if they can afford to send their employees to a place like this--even for only one night.' She suddenly felt rather inadequate. Had Lee ever brought her daughter to this place?  
  
Dotty noticed that Lee registered them as Mr. and Mrs. Steadman. That name sounded vaguely familiar. She didn't question it, however, and simply went along with the charade.   
  
Lee rested his hand lightly at her waist, guiding her across the lobby, as they followed the bellman up to their room.  
  
Once they were alone, Lee gestured grandly. "See, a suite. After that other time, I made sure that we had plenty of . . . *accommodations*. You take the bedroom, and I've got this great big couch out here."  
  
'After *that other time*? How many times have they done this?' Dotty wondered. "It's . . . wonderful," she commented. She was more than a little awed by the luxurious surroundings. "Boy, when you said we'd have to dress for dinner, you weren't kidding!"   
  
"You want to hit the shower first?" Lee asked.  
  
"Umm, yes, I think I would." Dotty removed the cocktail dress from the garment bag and picked up the rest of the things she planned to wear to dinner. She walked into the bathroom. It was just as impressive as the rest of the suite and filled with all the amenities, including two terry robes. She knew the one-size-fits-all lady's robe would be too large for her, and she imagined that the man's robe would be a little small on Lee. Besides soap and after-bath lotion, there was a plastic cap hanging in the shower, pale blue with the hotel's initials, BCR, in small white letters.  
  
'Gee, I bet they throw these caps away after each guest anyway. It'll make a nice souvenir of the occasion.'  
  
------------  
  
Would you like to share the Chateaubriand?" Lee asked, lowering his menu and smiling that wonderful smile again.  
  
"Sure." How could she possibly refuse? Dotty wondered if he smiled only at Amanda that way or was it just part of his standard operating procedure with all women.  
  
"Is anything wrong? You seem a little distracted tonight." Lee reached across the table and took her hand.   
  
Amanda's hand, Dotty reminded herself. "No, nothing's wrong. I . . . it's, ahh . . . you know."  
  
Fortunately, Lee seemed to be used to her daughter's sometimes rather vague responses. He simply nodded.  
  
"Well, it's mother and the boys. School and stuff like that." She took a sip of water. "Nothing you'd be interested in."  
  
"Hey." He gave her hand a little squeeze. "If you want to talk about anything that's bothering you, I'll listen. You know that."  
  
Dotty studied him. He looked and sounded sincerely concerned. Forget it. He'd never understand. How could he? How could anybody? *She* didn't understand what had happened! "No," she finally said. "That's okay. Let's just eat our dinner and enjoy ourselves."  
  
----------  
  
They had a delicious meal, accompanied by a very nice wine and idle chitchat, much of it about people that Dotty supposed Amanda would know. Of course, she hadn't a clue who they were. There were also some stories about Lee's adventures in some pretty exotic locations. Somehow, a lot of the things he had done didn't sound like he was making a movie--documentary or otherwise. Dotty listened attentively and laughed often. Lee obviously felt relaxed and at ease around Amanda. And she was relaxed around him. She. Did she mean her daughter or did she mean herself? It was getting hard to tell.  
  
When they had finished, Lee suggested they go into the Lounge and dance. It would be quite a while before he was to meet his contact in the bar. Dotty had learned that this contact person was bringing Lee an important bit of film, even though it was apparently very small. Micro . . . something.  
  
She was a little surprised at how close Lee held her and the way he would look at her and smile from time to time. She wondered if this man and her daughter danced like this very often. And if they did, what effect did it have on Amanda? She knew what effect it was having on her! If she were twenty years younger . . . she'd give Amanda a run for her money! 'Oh my gosh! What am I doing?' Dotty chided herself. 'This is getting out of hand. I've got to remember who I am and who he is and hope that this bizarre role reversal will be over--soon!'   
  
Well, maybe not *too* soon. Whatever would she say--how could she explain it--if, suddenly, it was Dotty West and not Amanda King, sitting across the table from Lee Steadman.  
  
---------------------  
  
Dotty had insisted on staying with Lee in the bar until he met this mysterious man who was bringing the film.  
  
After a bit of a wait, Lee received a package from a small, nervous looking man, wearing a rumpled, blue suit. It was time to head back to their room.  
  
Walking down the hall, Dotty tried to suppress a yawn.  
  
"Tired?" Lee asked solicitously.  
  
"Yeah, just a bit. It's been kind of a long day."  
  
"All right, Scarecrow, just keep walking. DON'T turn around. I have a gun in your lady friend's back."  
  
Dotty was startled. Not only by the rough voice with the foreign accent, but even more by the feel of cold steel pressing into her flesh.   
  
"Vladimir Borovitch, is that you? Long time no see," Lee said with a little laugh.   
  
He seemed somewhat amused, Dotty thought. Perhaps this person was someone from IFF, playing a joke. Or maybe he was a rival film maker. Oh my! Did the Mafia make movies?  
  
"Hey, I'm only here tryin' to show the lady a good time. Let her go to our room and you and I can go downstairs and talk this over and you can tell me what it is you want. Honey," Lee turned towards Dotty, "take the key and go on to the room. I'll join you in a little while."  
  
"The *lady* will stay with us. And you know what I want, Stetson, the microdot. I saw you in the bar, sitting by Rikker. We know he escaped with the codes, so don't play the innocent with me and don't try anything!"  
  
'Vladimir? Codes? Stetson? I thought his name was Steadman!' Dotty was beginning to feel as though she were in the middle of a James Bond movie.   
  
"She has nothing to do with this!"  
  
"Perhaps, but I don't think it would be very smart of me to allow your co-worker a chance to call for help," Borovitch snarled.   
  
Lee started to speak, but Vladimir cut him off. "No, we will all go to your suite where I can make sure *neither* of you can call for help."  
  
Dotty found it difficult to breathe. That sounded ominous . . . very ominous. Agatha Christie had not prepared her for this!  
  
They reached the room and Lee unlocked the door and then moved between Dotty and the burly intruder, as they entered.  
  
Somehow Dotty knew that Lee was going to try something. Something brash and daring and . . . stupid! After all, this goon had a gun!  
  
Borovitch seemed to sensed that something was about to happen. As Lee turned toward him, obviously prepared to lunge, the big man was ready and swung his arm, striking Lee on the side of the head with the barrel of the gun. As Lee fell to the floor, apparently stunned, Vladimir leaned over him. "I warned you Stetson, now . . ."  
  
Dotty didn't stop to think. She picked up the lamp and swung it as hard as she could at the man's head. It broke into a thousand pieces. And Vladimir went down, out like a light.  
  
Groaning a bit and rubbing his head, Lee sat up. "Good job, Amanda!" he exclaimed. "You've done it again!"  
  
-----------------------------  
  
Using his pen knife to cut the now useless electric cord from the lamp, Lee tied Vladimir's hands behind his back.  
  
While Dotty went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face and collect herself, Lee went to the phone.   
  
She heard him ask for *a team* to come over and pick up the microdot and take Borovitch away.  
  
When Dotty rejoined him, Lee took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We'll have to go into the office for debriefing. I'm sorry you won't get to stay the night here."  
  
"That's OK," Dotty shrugged. "I understand." Well, she didn't exactly understand. But *debriefing* must mean telling what happened. She wondered how much detail she'd have to go into.  
  
"Wait a minute," Lee's face lit up. "You don't have come back with me. Even at this time of night, it'll take our guys a good half an hour to get here. Then it's another half hour back to the office." He shook his head. "This'll take most of what's left of the night. Look, you stay here, get a few hours sleep in that big, comfortable bed, and I'll come back for you in the morning."  
  
"That sounds wonderful, but don't I have to be, ah, debriefed, too?"  
  
"Naw. I can give them all the information they need. While I'm waiting I'll call housekeeping and have them clean up the broken lamp. Wonder how much *that'll* add to our bill?"  
  
"Oh my gosh." Dotty wondered if she should offer to pay her share.  
  
"Never mind. Don't worry about it. You just go on in there and get some rest. You look kinda tired to me."  
  
"I am. Okay, thanks. But wait a minute, this means you'll have to stay up all night."  
  
"Hey," Lee grinned and winked, "it won't be the first time. Besides, I can sleep all day, once I'm finished."  
  
"Right. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
"Bright and early."  
  
She went in the bedroom and shut the door. Soon she was ready to slip between the sheets and go to sleep. It had been an interesting evening, to say the least. 'Why in the world would that man try and take that little bit of film at gun point? Probably had something to do with IFF making documentaries for the government. Maybe they make training films for the CIA . . . .'   
  
----------  
  
The next morning Dotty was up, dressed and ready to go when Lee tapped lightly on the door. He opened it before she could open it for him.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"All set." She gestured towards her suitcase and the garment bag laying across it. "Can we have breakfast first? It's the most . . . never mind."  
  
Dotty had a wonderful breakfast. Lee had coffee and a roll. She didn't want to ask too many questions, for fear of giving herself away. She decided it would be safe to ask what happened to Vladimir. It was a little surprising to hear that he was going to be deported. Of course, with that accent, he probably wasn't a citizen. And he *certainly* was unsavory.  
  
After they finished eating, Lee took care of the bill. The bellman brought their luggage and they walked out to the car. Time to begin the drive back to DC. The adventure was just about over.  
  
------------------------------------  
  
Dotty picked up the station wagon at IFF and started for home. She felt wonderful, confident and sure of herself. Why, she felt so sure of herself that she even made several left turns on the way back to Arlington.  
  
She arrived home about nine. The house was empty and quiet. Amanda and the boys apparently had gone to church. She unpacked quickly and then lay down on the couch in the family room, soon drifting off to sleep.  
  
"Amanda, Amanda, wake up."   
  
Dotty felt someone shaking her shoulder. "Oh, good morning . . . Mother," she said sleepily.  
  
"So, how did the house-sitting go?" Amanda asked. Her expression was a combination of expectation and worry.  
  
"Everything went fine . . . ."   
  
As soon as the boys went out to shoot some hoops, Dotty went into the kitchen, poured herself a cup of coffee and then filled Amanda in on the events of the previous evening and night. She showed Amanda the shower cap from the hotel. A little remembrance. "They would have thrown it away and I needed a new cap," Dotty said somewhat defensively.  
  
She spoke animatedly of her adventure, omitting only a few minor details. Such as how Lee had held her when they danced. And those glances. Maybe it was all part of whatever game he was playing. But then again, maybe it wasn't.   
  
Dotty didn't want to confront her daughter about the precise nature of her relationship with Lee. He certainly appeared to be fond of Amanda. But his conduct had been above reproach. He was a perfect gentleman.   
  
Perhaps that relationship was *just business*, as he had said. Although it seemed the nature of that business was something *other* than just producing boring documentary films. And, as she now knew from first hand experience, it also involved an element of danger! In spite of the danger, the romantic side of her nature hoped that there might be a future for Amanda and her handsome, charming, brave . . . boss.  
  
Philip and Jamie came bounding into the room, just as Dotty was winding up her narrative. She decided that, as difficult as it might be, she would hold off further discussion until the next day. The boys were supposed to go to the movies with friends.   
  
Then she could be fairly sure of the privacy she wanted when she asked some of the questions she had *promised* herself she would ask her daughter--about IFF and this new line of employment.  
  
"Hey, Grandma. Grandma!"  
  
Dotty cleared her throat and inclined her head slightly in Philip's direction. Then Amanda realized that he was talking to her.  
  
"What sweetheart?" she asked with a heavy sigh. Amanda couldn't quite shake the feeling of . . . of . . . was it jealousy? Was she jealous of her own mother? No way!  
  
"Can we go to Mr. Chicken for dinner tonight?" Philip smiled encouragingly.  
  
"Yeah, Grandma," Jamie put in, "that was really fun yesterday."  
  
"No, I've got everything ready for pot roast. It's, ahh, your mother's favorite dinner you know."  
  
"Yeah. But *my* favorite is Mr. Chicken. Can we go next weekend?" her older son wheedled.  
  
"Sure."  
  
----------------  
  
Amanda woke with a start. She was all tangled up in the sheet and blanket. Obviously, she had been tossing and turning for most of the night. She lay perfectly still, trying hard to recall her dream. Lee had figured prominently in it. Of that she was sure. But what else? She knew there was more.  
  
It was gone. She burrowed down into the covers, hoping to drift back to sleep and maybe back into the same dream. Just then . . .   
  
'That alarm. Why did I have to get such a loud one?' She managed to hit the button and turn it off on the first try.   
  
She rolled over and grumpily thought about the prospect of spending another day in her mother's body. She loved her mother dearly. She just didn't want to *be* her mother anymore.   
  
Stretching and throwing back the covers, she moved slowly to a sitting position. 'Funny, no aches or pains this morning. Hmm.'   
  
As she pulled on her robe, she thought of the story Dotty had told in the note that she had left to explain where she was going.   
  
'Pretty lame,' Amanda decided. 'Sounds like one of the stories I've told her.'   
  
And then her mother almost spent the night with Lee in that fancy hotel. If it hadn't been for that man, who must have been a KGB agent, what would have happened?   
  
'Oh, Amanda,' she shook her head at the very thought. 'Don't be silly. *Nothing* would have happened! Mother wouldn't let anything happen, any more than I could. It would have been just business, of course. With Lee it's always *just business*!'  
  
She walked into the bathroom, flipped on the light switch and . . . OH WOW!  
  
It was--her face. Her very own familiar face. Just some dark circles under those familiar brown eyes.  
  
'Now what?' she asked herself, as she walked into the hallway. Did she run into Dotty's room and . . . and . . . .   
  
Before she could make up her mind about how to approach Dotty with this welcome turn of events, her mother's bedroom door opened.  
  
"Amanda, darling, do you know where this came from?" She held out a shower cap, light blue, with the initials BCR, prominently, but tastefully, displayed.  
  
"Oh, umm." This was not the question she had expected her mother to ask! "I got that from . . . ahh, a friend . . . at work. She stayed at the Baltimore Crown Regent and took the cap as a souvenir and then decided she didn't want it. I knew you needed a new one, so I brought it home. I thought you'd like one from a fancy hotel."  
  
"Well, thank you, dear. I've always dreamed about staying at the Crown Regent." Dotty looked very pleased with this little gift.  
  
"Maybe one day you will." Amanda smiled and went back into her bedroom. Problem solved. And she wasn't about to ask how.  
  
A nice shower, a good breakfast, and she'd be ready to face whatever this new day might hold.  
  
She made a silent vow. They would *never* eat at any Hungarian restaurant *ever* again. Well, at least, not at one that employed a gypsy fortune-teller!  
  
end 


	2. to a Verdi Festival

…..to a Verdi Festival . . . . A Lovely Little Affair TAGlet

by rankamateur

Scarecrow and Mrs. King belong to Warner Bros. and Shoot The Moon Enterprises, LTD.

A Lovely Little Affair written by Kathleen A. Shelley

Another version of the night of the Verdi Festival

-------------------------------------------------------

"Sorry, I'm busy!" Amanda said firmly, turning away from her superior.

"Oh, Gee, that's—that's too bad," Lee pulled two tickets from his inside pocket. "These were for tonight."

Amanda turned back toward him, obviously ready to make some feisty comment, when she saw what Lee had in his hand. "Are those real?"

"About eight?"

"Love to."

"See how easy that was?" Lee grinned.

Amanda laughed. "Okay, okay, so professional, trained agents are more devious and always carry tickets to popular events in their pockets. Are they really real?" she asked again.

"Yes, they're really real. Check 'em out, if you don't believe me." He held the objects out for her closer inspection.

"No, that's all right. "I believe you. How did you get them? I read that the Verdi Festival was sold out weeks ago."

"Hey, we have our ways, remember?"

Amanda grimaced. "Oh yeah."

"Actually, Francine had to get some tickets to the production of Traviata for one of our slightly less than helpful friends out at Dulles. The guy works in Surveillance. Anyway, as long as she was at it, she got some tickets to the Festival for her and her new boy friend. But he had to work, so she gave the tickets to me."

"I'm surprised she didn't want you to take her--or she could take you--whichever."

"I don't think she's much of a Verdi fan. How about you? Do like his work?"

"Umm, I like the pieces I've heard. You know--like that March from Aida and umm, that, I guess it's some kind of drinking song, from La Traviata. I'm sure I've heard other things but I can't recall them right off hand."

"But--you would like to go with me tonight--right?" He seemed hesitant, almost shy. "Didn't you tell me that you were workin' on a new dress for the next time we had to go to one of those diplomatic things?"

"Yeah. I do have the dress--all finished. And sure, if you--I'd love to go. Eight o'clock you said?"

They both got up and started for the door.

"The performance starts at eight-thirty. I'd better pick you up at about seven-thirty. Or, if you'd rather, I could meet you in the IFF parking lot at quarter of eight. That should give us enough time to get to the Kennedy, get parked and get to our seats."

"Okay. I guess meeting you here would be best. Save a lot of questions from my mother. She's gonna ask enough about why I'm wearing a brand new gown to an IFF Documentary." Amanda furrowed her brow, obviously running through a few scenarios for her mother's interrogation. "Seven forty-five would be great. I better get goin'. I'll see you then. And, Lee . . . "

"Yes?"

"Thanks for inviting me."

"My pleasure," he smiled, reached out and took her hand. "See you later."

Amanda gently reclaimed her hand and started to leave.

"Amanda . . . ."

"What?"

"I know you like to tell your mother as much of the truth as you can. Instead of saying you're going to an IFF showing--how 'bout you tell her that--umm--IFF bought tickets to this Verdi thing and your boss was going to take a client, but the guy backed out at the last minute, so he, your boss, asked if you'd like to go. So the tickets wouldn't go to waste. And you jumped at the chance." He looked quite pleased with his cover story.

"Sounds logical and believable," Amanda nodded. "I'll tell her exactly that." With a grin and a little wave, she was out the door.

Lee exhaled loudly. 'Stetson, I hope you know what you're doing.'

-----------------------------

Lee paced nervously beside the Corvette, glancing at his watch again. 'She's late! Well, two minutes late, anyway. Dammit, late is late! Relax. This is Amanda, just Amanda.'

The same Amanda who seemed to be the cause of that strange, tingling sensation he had felt as he sat on her bed in the middle of the night, reluctantly, slowly, letting go of her hand. He had only gone to her home, and climbed the trellis at that hour, in order to warn her to stay away from Chamberlain because of his connection to the terrorist, Franco Necci.

'Chamberlain. That jerk!'

Who did he think he was--kissing Amanda? Even if it was pretty obviously, a goodbye kiss. It better have been goodbye and Mr. Documents Expert better be out of her life or . . . .

The familiar wagon pulled in and parked next to him. The door opened and he stood there, gaping like an idiot, as this vision emerged.

'Help her out of the car,' a little voice yelled at him. He stepped forward and extended his hand and she took it and allowed him to assist her.

Her gown was a color Lee had seen before. He couldn't recall the name. It was a kind of greenish-blue. It reminded him of a lagoon in the South Pacific, where the shallow water met the deeper part of the ocean. Whatever they called it, it was perfect for Amanda. The gown itself was perfect too. Formfitting at the top, accentuating her slender waist and then sort of flaring out. He was sure it was perfect for dancing--all night. He made a mental note to check his Events Calendar for the next Embassy Ball.

"Ahh, here, my car's right here," he mumbled, as though she couldn't see for herself that his car was indeed, right there.

She smiled up at him. "Thanks, ahh. . . . ."

"Oh yeah," he quickly reached down and opened the door and then helped her into the passengers seat. "Are you in?"

"Yup. I'm good."

"Better than good."

"What?" She asked, laughing at what she thought she heard.

"Nothing." Lee seated himself and started the car. Soon they were on the road, heading for the Kennedy Center.

A short time later, they were comfortably ensconced in their seats, twelfth row center, of the elegant hall

The houselights dimmed and the first strains of the music washed over them. The overture to La Forza del Destino.

'Destiny,' Lee mused. Destiny, as in train stations and needing help from a civilian and too many men in red hats?

He was glad that his visits to Italy, once when his uncle was stationed there, and on several Agency assignments, had given him a nodding acquaintance with, and an appreciation of, Grand Opera. At least the Italian variety. Judging by the expression on Amanda's face, she was enjoying the music as much as he believed and hoped, that she would.

It was funny, almost every piece, whether vocal or instrumental, reminded him in some way of Amanda or of the two of them, as a . . . . team. And, at some time during the evening, he had taken hold of her hand. Lost in his thoughts, Lee didn't notice that the music had stopped, the lights were turned up and people were applauding. He looked at Amanda, who was looking at him, curiously, and quickly let go of her hand. They joined the rest of the audience in showing their appreciation.

"Ahh, well," he started, feeling a bit awkward, knowing he'd been caught day dreaming, "I guess it's . . . ."

"It's time for the intermission," Amanda finished for him.

"Right." He flashed that 1000 megawatt grin of his, and took her arm, steering her up the aisle to the lobby. "Would you like some champagne?"

"Well….," she drew the word out as she tapped her finger on her chin as though in deep contemplation, "I think that would be very nice.." She gave him a smile that warmed his heart more than any magnum of champagne ever could.

The second half of the concert was just as enjoyable as the first. He was sure that no orchestra had ever performed Verdi so beautifully. The evening was magic. And it had to be the music--hadn't it?

----------------------------------------

They arrived back at the IFF lot. Lee turned off the motor and turned to face his companion. "Well, I hope you had a good time. I sure enjoyed the evening."

"Oh yes," she responded enthusiastically. "It was wonderful! I can't thank you enough for inviting me to go with you tonight." She placed a hand on his arm and then, just as quickly, removed it. "I guess I better get going. It's kind of late and I know my mother will be waiting up for a full report," she laughed.

He laughed too and got out of the car. Walking around to the passenger side, he opened the door and helped her out. He stood there, very close to her, just looking into her lovely brown eyes. He couldn't remember ever wanting to kiss a woman so much.

He leaned forward and she tilted her face ever so slightly, up towards his.

Just as their lips were about to meet . . . . the bright headlights of a car bathed them in their merciless glare. Lee jumped back as though he had been physically pushed away.

Amanda turned towards the car as it pulled into the parking space next to hers.

Out stepped their boss. "Scarecrow---where have you been? I've been calling your apartment all evening! We have a major flap going on and I need you right now!"

"Ahh, yeah Billy. I ahh, that is, we--I mean I had these tickets for tonight and Amanda said she go with me. We, err, I didn't want to waste them. You know . . . . "

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Well looks like your evening is finished so let's get inside."

"Sir, do you need me too?" Amanda stood at attention.

Billy smiled to himself. "No, Amanda. You go on home. We can handle this for tonight. Maybe tomorrow, we'll have a better handle on the situation and then we'll see what help you can be. You look very nice, by the way."

"Yes, Sir. I'll see you in the morning. And--thank you, Sir. She turned and unlocked the door to the wagon. She got in and started the motor.

Lee followed Billy toward the entrance to the IFF building. He turned when he heard the station wagon start to pull away. He waved and smiled. In the dim light of the parking lot, he could just make out Amanda waving and smiling back at him.

Maybe this was for the best. Maybe their first real kiss should wait just a little longer.

There were probably a thousand reasons why he and Amanda shouldn't be anything more than partners and friends--good friends-- best friends. Yeah, a thousand reasons. He just couldn't think of a single one, at that moment.

He'd have to work on that tomorrow.

end


End file.
